A Younger Man. Linda Turner

in front of the flat tire, he looked up at her with twinkling eyes. “You look like a woman who would know her way around a kitchen. What do you like to cook? French? Italian?”

      She felt the warmth of his gaze all the way down to her toes, and for a moment, her mind went completely blank. Then his eyes crinkled with amusement and she realized she was staring at him as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. Heat rushed into her cheeks, mortifying her. What was wrong with her? She was too old to blush!

      “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really in a hurry. I’ve got to get to school.”

      Interest sparked in his eyes. “School? You go to Mountain State?”

      She nodded, then grimaced wryly. “Well, I will if my professor doesn’t kick me out before I even get to sit in on his first class.”

      “Oh, I doubt he’ll do that,” he replied as he easily loosened one lug nut, then another. “Most of the professors are pretty reasonable. What’s your first class?”

      “Archeology,” she said, “with Professor Sullivan.”

      “Sullivan?” he said, arching a brow consideringly. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a decent guy. Just tell him you had a flat on the way to school. I’m sure he’ll cut you some slack.”

      “I’ve just waited so long to go to college, and I want to start out on the right foot. Not that the professor will probably even notice,” she added. “I’ve heard that some of the classes are so large there’s no way the teachers even know who all their students are.”

      “Oh, Sullivan will notice you,” he assured her with a grin. “You’re cute. And I heard he was partial to redheads.”

      Heat climbing in her cheeks, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you flirting with me?”

      Not the least bit concerned by her warning tone, he winked at her. “Got it in one, sweetheart. How’m I doing?” When she just gave him a baleful look, he chuckled. “That good, huh? Give me time. I’m just warming up.”

      His eyes danced with laughter, and she had to admit that there’d been a time in her life when she might have been tempted. She’d always had a weakness for scamps, and there was no question that her handsome Samaritan had, no doubt, been using a smile and the glint in his eyes to get his way with women ever since he was old enough to crawl. But he had to be at least ten years younger than she was, and she was older and wiser than she’d once been.

      Anxious to be on her way, she said lightly, “I really hate to shoot you down, but I’ve got to go. Thanks for loosening the lug nuts for me. I’ll take it from here.”

      Not the least disturbed that she was giving him the brush-off, he only grinned. “No problem. I’ve got it.” And not giving her time to argue further, he jacked up the back of her car and quickly replaced the flat with her spare. Two minutes later, he loaded the flat and jack in the trunk of her Honda, slammed the lid and turned to her with a smile. “You’re all set to go.”

      “Thank you so much,” she said with a sigh of relief. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

      “Get the flat fixed as quickly as you can,” he told her as he opened her door for her and she quickly slipped into the driver’s seat. “Your spare’s pretty thin.”

      “I know. I’ve been meaning to get new tires, but you know how that goes.” Smiling, she quickly started the car. “Thanks again for all your help. Gotta go.”

      “Hey, wait!” he said, startled, as she put the car in gear. “What’s your number? Let’s meet—”

      Waving, she drove off.

      “—for a drink,” he called after her. She didn’t even slow down. Ten seconds later she turned at the next corner and disappeared from view. Grinning, he grabbed his helmet and jumped on his bike. Ten seconds later he, too, turned at the next corner.

      Her first class was in Old Main, and Natalie couldn’t find a parking space anywhere. Softly cursing, she quickly cruised down the surrounding streets, keeping a eye out for the campus police and any space big enough to squeeze her car into. And with every tick of the clock on the dash, the knot in her stomach tightened.

      When she finally found a parking place six blocks away, she was already late for class. Now it was only a question of how late. Quickly pulling into the small space between two pickups that were over their lines, she grabbed her backpack and sprinted for Old Main.

      She was breathless by the time she reached her classroom. Hesitating outside in the hallway, she dreaded opening the door and walking in. Rushing in ten minutes after class started, the object of all eyes, was not the way she’d dreamed of starting college, but there was no help for it. Dragging in a calming breath, she straightened her shoulders and pulled open the door.

      Just as she’d expected, all eyes swung her way. Heat climbed in her cheeks and she was only concerned with finding a seat and disappearing. But first she had to apologize to her professor for being so late. Forcing a weak smile, she directed her gaze to the man standing at the front of the classroom. “I’m so sorry—”

      That was as far as she got. Her gaze locked with familiar sparkling blue eyes that were full of mischief, and suddenly her heart was pounding in confusion. This was Maxwell Sullivan? A biker with a fast smile and a quick line who came to the aid of damsels in distress? He couldn’t be! Maxwell Sullivan was not only a professor of archeology, but a writer who was a true-life Indiana Jones. He traveled all over the world, solving mysteries that were older than dirt, then came home and wrote bestselling novels about his adventures by weaving archeological facts into fiction. He couldn’t possibly be her Good Samaritan! He was too young, too carefree, too cute to be a stodgy old professor.

      “I’m sorry,” she said huskily. “Excuse me. I must be in the wrong classroom.”

      “Not so fast,” Maxwell Sullivan said easily as she turned to leave. “You’re in the right place…or at least you are if you’re Natalie Bailey. Everyone else answered roll.”

      Stunned, she just stared at him. “But you’re supposed to be older!”

      It wasn’t until the rest of the class laughed that she realized she’d blurted out her thoughts. Mortified, she wanted to sink right through the floor. Forcing a weak smile, she said, “Excuse me while I take my foot out of my mouth. I just thought—”

      “What everyone else in the class thought,” he finished for her with an easy grin. “So, please, don’t apologize. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not your average professor.”

      “So just how old are you?” a cocky eighteen-year-old asked him from the front row. “Are you sure you have your Ph.D? You don’t look old enough to shave, dude.”

      “You can thank my parents for that,” Max retorted, chuckling. “I’ve got good genes. And yes, I do have my Ph.D. If you don’t believe me—check me out. I didn’t buy any of my degrees on the Internet.”

      “But you’ve got to be too young to be a professor,” another student said with a frown. “How old were you when you graduated from high school? Nine?”

      “Not quite,” he laughed. “I was sixteen.”

      “Sixteen!”

      “No way!”

      Grinning at the uproar that created, he added, “I got my B.A. when I was nineteen.”

      The rest of her classmates found that hard to accept, but Natalie could well believe he’d finished college in three years. She’d read his books—they were complex and detailed and filled with fascinating historical facts. Knowing nothing else about him other than his published work, she’d never doubted that he was anything short of brilliant…which was why she’d been so eager to sign up for his class. She’d never dreamed he’d be a biker with peach fuzz on his cheeks.

      Okay,